


Any Port In A Storm

by FabulousMe4333



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternative Universe - Kingdom, Clay | Dream & Technoblade Friendship (Video Blogging RPF), Denial of Feelings, Dream Team SMP Roleplay (Video Blogging RPF), Dreamnoblade - Freeform, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff and Angst, Forbidden Love, Gen, Hunter Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Internal Conflict, King Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), M/M, Manberg Festival on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Mild Smut, POV Alternating, Pre-Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Presumed Dead, Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, Slow Romance, technodream - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-21
Packaged: 2021-03-25 20:21:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30094596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FabulousMe4333/pseuds/FabulousMe4333
Summary: Any Port In A Storm — in adverse circumstances one welcomes any source of relief or escape.The world remembers Wilbur and Tommy as traitors and believed they were killed in their own operation. Technoblade, King of the Antarctic Empire, knows otherwise. Desperate to find his brothers, he hired the number 1 wanted hunter assassin Dream to assist him in his mission.However, when duty got in the way of sprouting feelings they can’t quite put a finger on and secrets got in the way of their growing trust in each other, will their relationship, shaped by odd circumstances and dangers, prevail?*IMPORTANT* Include the SBI Family Dynamic and Dream x Technoblade. This is an alternative universe from the DreamSMP. Specific differences will be elaborated throughout the fanfic. All names within the story are referring to the characters being roleplayed, so no harassment/bothering/ trouble should be given to the actual, amazing content creators. Any ship/romantic relationship is also between the characters, specifically characters adapted from the DreamSMP and is my own version of, so please don’t make anyone uncomfortable by showing them this story. Now with no further ado, enjoy!
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity & Jschlatt, Antfrost & Luke | Punz, Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound/Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Eret & Floris | Fundy & Niki | Nihachu & Ranboo & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Ranboo & Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Sam | Awesamdude & Technoblade, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Zak Ahmed & Darryl Noveschosch & Technoblade
Comments: 12
Kudos: 88





	1. Roles

*IMPORTANT* Include the SBI Family Dynamic. This is an alternative universe from the DreamSMP. Specific differences will be elaborated throughout the fanfic. All names within the story are referring to the characters being roleplayed, so no harassment/bothering/ trouble should be given to the actual, amazing content creators. Any ship/romantic relationship is also between the characters, specifically characters adapted from the DreamSMP and is my own version of, so please don’t make anyone uncomfortable by showing them this story.  


Below are roles that doesn’t need to be memorized but would help understand the story is learned. This is an AU with a couple major differences to the canon Dream SMP plot. Now without further ado, enjoy!

Antarctic Empire

Technoblade: King

Philza: Grand Advisor

Tubbo: Chamberlain

Fundy: Prince

Eret: Cofferer 

Niki: Secretary

Ranboo: Butler and Almoner

Awesamdude: Constable (a person holding a particular office most commonly in criminal law enforcement)

Butcher’s Army - Antarctic Empire’s Bounty Hunters

Tubbo: Capturer

Ranboo: Investigator/Searcher/Scout

Punz: Enforcer/Fighter

Eret: Bounty Collector

Badlands - Territory of the Antarctic Empire

BadBoyHalo: Leader of the Badlands 

Skeppy: Bodyguard

Punz: Knight

Antfrost: Knight

Manberg - Rival Country to the Antarctic Empire

Jschlatt: President of Manberg

Quackity: Vice President of Manberg

Dream Team - Group of Hunter Assassins

Dream: Leader of Dream Team

Sapnap: Member of Dream Team

George: Member of Dream Team

  
Others  


Techno’s Chat and Philza’s Chat: The Voices

Other’s Chat, Twitter, Twitch, Youtube, Reddit: the People of the Antarctic Empire, Manberg and the Badlands


	2. Technoblade’s P.O.V

A flurry of pink strands disturb the union of green dotting the forest scenery as twigs snapped in half underneath a pair of tall boots. Dry leaves danced with the icy fingers of the wind as a breath of cold air scratched against his pale skin. A gentle ray of light had blossomed on the horizon as the sun continued to lower behind distant hills. Red, cider orange, yellow and indigo blue painted the sky and warmth splashed into the forest, soothing his tightened shoulder. Melting into the horizon a yellow glow was cast upon the surrounding trees. His gaze settled on the  fog desperately clinging to the nearby forested ground several tree rows in, sunlight refracting in the suspended moisture to set it aglow. A fresh smell with faint hints of nightly chills cleared his clouded mind and welcomed him as he emerged from the woods and up a low hill. Hand over his eyes, he could not see much but a long, stretched shadow standing on the peak, looking down at him silently. A hand reached for the hilt of his sword as Techno proceeded.

His crown gleamed underneath the afternoon light as he brushed a handful of hair out of view and cocked his boar skull mask as he reached the figure, their eyes finally leveled. Dream bowed slightly before glancing smilingly at Techno’s hand, the one curling around the handle of his blade. “You called for me, your majesty?” Dream spoke after a moment of silence, his voice of a man younger than Techno expected. Yet the words themselves were cloying and tainted with a politeness feigned so perfectly it can only be done by a veteran and recognized by another.

Techno also winced, just slightly, at the name Your Majesty. Back in the empire everyone just called him Technoblade. Sometimes they would add his title as the King in front for formal occasions, but within this household he had always cringed upon hearing the conventional way to address. He didn’t despise it, not exactly; it was a sign of respect, and he intended on keeping that part of the culture. It was just odd to think of himself that way, as if the mere name has made him so much more superior than those around him. It was a mindset that could easily make one arrogant or condescending, and that was dangerous in multiple aspects.

Technoblade studied the renowned hunter assassin that went by the sobriquet ‘Dream’. A tint of irony stained that name, for he was infamous for his swift, cold and flawless performance one mission after another, and the mocking smile edged into the ceramic mask that hid his real expression. It was a taunting scene that conjured nightmares and shakened many’s sense of security and peace. With each unnerving story more ghastly than the last Dream was described like akin to a monster in human skin, an immortal demon from the underworld. This was the man whose head was worth a handsome sum of money, who had a bounty placed by Technoblade himself upon the insistence of his people. Perhaps it was the numerous gruesome rumours told about the man standing in front of him, perhaps it was the knowing that this was a lawless being capable of atrocious cruelties, that Dream’s mere presence seemed to hold its own gravity and weighed the atmosphere down. 

Dream was peeking at him curiously as well, trying just as hard to read the expression and body language of the king. However harmless he seemed right now, Techno was once again reminded by the screaming voices in his head that this was a dangerous man, and that by showing up, he could potentially be putting his own life at stake. 

It was an extreme, desperate measure, but he had no other choices.

The world remembered Wilbur and Tommy as traitors. Heir to the throne, Wilbur tried to blow up the royal castle and kill Technoblade in the process in order to become king. He failed and was caught red-handed, Philza forced to finish him off before he could flee. Tommy was Wilbur’s acquaintance, and died during the act. At least, that was the story.

Technoblade believed that both of his brothers were alive. Wilbur might have suffered a fatal injury, but he didn’t die. He had to have survived and with the help of Tommy, escaped, vanished into the wilderness and never heard of again. It wasn’t a blind hope but more of a gut instinct that told, that promised Techno that they were indeed alive. He just knew they were.

Yet the rest of the kingdom had insisted on moving on, smudging the two names into nothing but crossed out words in the books of history, forever forgotten. 

Those close to the two outcasts had each dealt with their grief in a different way. For Philza, it was acceptance and regret, guilt that haunt his nights and trauma that taint his day. Techno knew this from the rueful chuckle that came at the rare mentions of the incident, from the sorrowful glance at the guitar collecting dust in a corner and the shaking hands that could no longer hold a sword without shaking too hard and dropping it.

For Fundy, it was ignorance. The young prince grew up with only faint memories of his father, and his blissfully innocent mind was kept away from the rumours and whispers of his father’s sins. Due to this history he grew up with unhealthy indulgence and excessive care, and became a spoiled adolescent with a crave of attention all was too busy to satisfy.

For Tubbo, it was denial and an unrealistic optimism that they will come back, but gradually he has mentioned the topic less and less. Occasionally one would catch the traumatized youngster clutch a matted green bandana, the only last remaining of his childhood friend. 

Technoblade was the only one that has not forgotten, that has not moved on. He knew the few that still reminisced about the roaring laughter and the soft eyes and gentle hands, that still could recall the cold days spent cramped in a cottage in the Antarctic woods hunting and playing, that still remembered Wilbur and Tommy, was in a pain and suffering that never ceased but was only easier to hide with time. For them, for himself, he was going to find the two morons that had worried them so, the two that were probably only in hiding because they were afraid to own up to their behaviour and mistakes. 

But those who remembered wanted to forget and those who didn’t wanted to move on. And so Technoblade was left with no choice but to, with no support or jurisdiction, venture into the woods to meet with the one person that surprisingly enough, was willing to help. In exchange, of course, for money, but that wasn’t something Techno lacked. What he lacked was protection from prying eyes and ears, freedom to research and investigate without unwanted attention and questions. What he lacked was what Dream had as someone not bound by law, duties or status. 

And so he turned his attention back to the present, back the man in front of him and asked bleakly. “What do you need to know in order to find them by the fastest means possible?”

“Full names, nicknames if any. A picture, perhaps. Any context, backstory or headings that might sound familiar if one were to ask around.” Dream answer simply.

“Wilbur Soot and Tommy Init. Have you not heard of November 16th?” Techno raised an eyebrow. Everyone has heard of that day, the day that rose bloody and true to a land arise of smoke and debris, of land shaken by explosion and blanketed by a black coating of gunpowder, of soil that bleed a bright crimson and of flags and cloths and walls broken and shredded and collapsed. Only battered and bruised hearts and souls, broken and hopeless eyes and people stood to see the break of the day shed its light. 

“I’ve heard only bits and pieces, stories and myths that’s hard to distinguish from facts and truths.” Was the plain reply.” 

Techno nodded, finding the answer reasonable, as he slipped out an envelope and a photo of his two brothers from his robe and handed it over to the hooded, masked man. “I anticipated that this might happen. The letter in the envelope has everything you just asked for. Burn it after reading, and don’t shed a glimpse of it to others.” 

Dream stared at the picture for a moment before putting it away. “Once every two weeks should be enough time for progress to be reported each meeting. That’s how often we’ll meet.” Techno nodded. Through the ceramic mask emerald eyes peered at him cautiously before Dream whispered in a low hiss, “You must not speak of this meeting, or any of the ones that proceed after this one.” It sounded almost like an order, but Techno knew that it was more of a pronouncement of a rule that both parties acknowledged and understood for mutual benefit. 

Along with his life, Techno was risking reputation and potentially, his crown, by seeking out this dangerous criminal to do his biddings. He winced slightly upon imagining Philza’s look of shock and disappointment if he knew about this. It would be beyond scandalous if words were to come out, which was why that is to be prevented at all cost and by all means, even if it meant to forcefully silence bystanders and eavesdroppers. With that thought a quick, sharp glance was cast around him. 

“Well, that concludes our first meeting. It’s a pleasure doing business with your majesty, but now I must bid you adieu.” Something glistened an eerie green glow in Dream’s hand before it was tossed behind him. An ender pearl. Techno watched in silence as the hunter disappeared in a puff of violet particles before turning around and heading down the hill. It was when the shadow of the plateau finally covered his back that Techno released a long held breath through his teeth. Tense shoulders relaxed as he stretched his stiffened back, unclutching the hand that had never left his sword. The entire time he had been well prepared for a battle, sensing the air for movement, for any signs of ambush. But the attack never came, and now the weary king rested his heart which had felt, during their brief exchange of words, to have been dangled on a trembling string. For now, a pinch of sand, one that indicated the minuscule amount of due credit and trust Techno gave to the hunter assassin for their first meeting, fell into an hourglass; it would take an awful long time for each particle to amount to anything that truly meaningful though. But as of the present, the sunset with its mess of warm colours painting the sky was marking the beginning of a partnership that would change both parties’ lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the story so far! This is my first time writing with this ship so I’m unsure if it went well. Thank you for reading and I would really appreciate comments/feedback!


	3. Dream’s P.O.V

He twirled an autumn leaf between his fingers before letting it slip through his grasp and watching it drift to the ground before becoming motionless. He studied with disinterested eyes the bright yellow that spreaded from the steam of the leaf before it turned into a brown hue and then returning to a stunning red at the tip of its curling, withering edges. A bitter breeze blew his hair into a parade, his hands, ones he could barely feel, squeezed together and his face flushed. His dirt-blond hair caught specks of the fading sunlight as they danced wildly in the air, glimmering into golden strands. Seemingly unaware of this, he stared absentmindedly at a small puddle not far from the cave where he stood.

Through the reflection he saw an unrecognizable man staring back. His hood draped loosely over his forehead, bright green sleeves pushed up to his forearm, fingerless gloves hiding rough, bruised hands. An axe strapped to his back, a crossbow in his bag, a museum of potions and a thin pocket knife on his belt. A white, hard piece of ceramic mask hid his face, narrowing his view and blocking out the warmth of sunshine. A smooth smile carved simply across, adorning the plain surface innocently yet at the same time was known for being menacing, a taunting last sight before his victim’s eyes, the grin cruel and not betraying any emotion. A bead of rain dropped down from the ceiling of the cavern into the puddle, his reflection smeared as the water rippled and his trance was broken.

He pushed himself into the cave, a temporary refuge, as the leaves above him began to rattle a tapping rhythm and it began to pour. The sky was all of a sudden a swirling grey storm as lightning flashed through the turmoil of clouds and thunder crackled, shaking the ground. Finding a nice boulder to sit on he looked out into the misty forest, the path that he had taken smeared in mud and untraceable. A sigh escaped as he leaned back, listening to the violent thumping of raindrops throwing themselves against the roof of the cave along with the howling, wild wind. 

He thought back to the meeting he had moments ago with the king. His Majesty had on a white silk blouse well adorned with golden embroidery, an elegant cravat pinned onto the neck with a crimson ruby, and on his shoulders draped a mantle of red lined with fur. A row of delicate pearl buttons edged the lace at his wrist. His mantle fell gracefully around his ankles, pooling at his tall boots. His gown looks to have been custom-made; the lace hand-embroidered by the yard and as delicate as spiderwebs, affixed with freshwater pearls that caught light when he moved. Tortoiseshell, with a mother-of-pearl inlay and teeth that had the too-bright look of real gold tied his long strands of pink hair, making a ladylike braid at the nape of his neck, and on top of them was what completed the lavish display, a crown of pure gold, embellished and weaved with only the most intricate designs, exquisite and gleaming in the fading light. Underneath all the lace and frill it was surprising in an outfit so fancy yet uncomfortable, at least visually, that the king could even move as swiftly and agile as he did.

His Majesty was not much of a talker, and Dream had found the few conversations they had bleak and cold. A boar mask hid all expression and any sign of life in the dull eye sockets, and was intimidating, doubtlessly efficient at its function of striking fear into the hearts of the king’s enemies.

King Technoblade of the Antarctic Empire was no stranger to Dream’s ears. The name was either spoken proudly from those friends with his Majesty or whispered in fear and with caution in the shadows of those who had wronged him. From his decisive persona to his unpredictable tactics, from his unquestionable rule to his countless victories in battles and in wars, the crowned man had no small fame for his skills and prowess in fighting. Fearful was his opponents and awed was his allies as stories, crazy rumours of talent and unimaginable strength, spread like wide-fire with each country and land conquered by the Antarctic Empire until hunger for resources was finally fulfilled and the border was settled down.

Dream had never been a fan of nobility men, dressed in clothing of silk and velvet. To say they were all hat and no cattle was Dream’s favourite expression in describing the snobby weaklings that could only lift a pen and not a weapon. It was for that he was intrigued and paid more attention and respect then he usually did to the King of the Antarctic Empire. He wanted to meet, wanted to see for his own eyes this legendary warrior. He wanted to understand what kind of person that alone had trounced all others and had made himself deserving of wealth and power and fame and fortune; why must and have the name Technoblade carry with it an air of notoriety, of respect and awe and honour.

Call him crazy, but he wanted to test the man himself, wanted to challenge the king to a duel and answer his own questions in the way he knows best—through the clashing of blades, though a spar akin to a dance of swords and stances. 

It was for that reason what he had seen today slightly disappointed him. He knew the king to be dangerous, to be threatening if wanted to be, and was prepared for that duel he had always wanted. Yet there was no indication of violence, no sign of the warrior he always heard about. There was nothing, nothing but a king just like any other. 

He convinced himself that that was a shallow interpretation, that the meeting was only a glimpse, a tiny creak of a door into what kind of person his Majesty may be. It does not mean or conclude anything, and should not be overthought, overanalyzed. 

Just as Dream thought this he froze, sensing acutely a slight movement in the distance and his hands instinctively reaching for his waist for the blade hidden there— only, it was too late. His hands were twisted back and locked together by a firm hand as an arm cuffed his neck, immobilizing him in a blink of his eyes. Heavy breathing grazed the back of his neck as Dream struggled to turn his head to see the attacker. A plan was developing quickly in his mind as he let drop a needle from his sleeves to fight back, but to his surprise he was released. It sent him tumbling forward, almost tripping over himself and falling to the floor.

He turned around quickly, only to, with widened eyes, find the king in question standing there, clothing all damp and hair limb pieces of ropes sticking to his boar mask. “W-what?” Dream managed to ask.

The king’s monotone voice betrayed no emotion. “Sorry. I thought you were somebody else.”

“Luckily I’m not! Or else… probably a goner, huh?” Rubbing his neck, Dream mumbled, resting against the wall as shock slowly seeps away. 

His Majesty frowned. “I wouldn’t have killed them.”

“You almost killed me.” Dream puffed.

“Is that how much the infamous hunter assassin can handle? It’s the oldest trick in the book. Looks like I’ve overestimated you, then.” There was an air of humour in that sentence, and it was spoken like an inside joke to an old friend, so much so that Dream found that he couldn’t be offended. To know that there were expectations for his skills, meaning that the king has even heard of his missions and adventures, was almost flattering as well.

“In my defence, not many know that trick, and even fewer can perform it that well.” Dream held his hands in front of him, to which the other slightly chuckled.

It was strange. Dream didn’t know what was the proper way to speak to a royalty. He wasn’t taught how, wasn’t raised to interact with people so supreme in the ladders of hierarchy. Dream was born in a small, humble village, with food earned by bare hands and hard work and games invented with whatever lay around—it was for this reason also that he disliked nobilities and their spoiled ways. Basic courtesy was, of course, still known to him, but anything beyond that like conventional titles and mannerism wasn’t familiar to him. And so he could only fake an air of politeness; if the other were to see through it, he would rather be recognized as insincere than rude.

His priorities were evidently peculiar from the normal standard, yet it shouldn’t come as a surprise. In the life of an assassin with a bounty of millions tagged by various countries, of a criminal that ruled the world of shadows and trickery, integrity wasn't really the primary concern. Truth was treason in the empire of lies, after all, and such an empire was the one Dream lived in.

Still, the gentlemen-like sweetness and serenity that he always yields when he tells a lie was forgotten just a moment ago, allowing a silver of the somewhat goofy personality he reserved only for his closest, most trusted friends to shine through the stiff cold surface of his ceramic mask. He flinched at the realization, and regained his composure; he must not let down his guard. 

“Why are you here? Shouldn’t you head back to your kingdom?” Dream asked, trying too hard to cool his altitude that his words came out sounding harsh and forbidding.

The king, too, returned to his usual indifferent tone. “I have to wait out the storm. Can’t have anyone see me in such soaked clothing when I told them I was only-” He cut himself off, not willing to share more details. Dream nodded, understanding the cautiousness. Both of them had a reputation, and from every perspective there was no reason for them to trust each other. 

Out of the corner of his eyes he kept a glance on his Majesty, who had taken off his mantle as to dry it, as Dream took out the envelope the king had given him moments ago. A rustle of paper sounded as he pulled out the letter. His eyes darted from word to word swiftly, the ink stained paper scribbled on it detailed, somewhat personal information that he could see why would rather remain unknown to the public. Even so, it was noticeable that some information was still missing, each description a leap from the other leaving small holes and questions unanswered. It must be done intentionally for security reasons, Dream realized. 

When he finally peeled his eyes off the long letter, he found the king looking at him. “Your Majesty has nice handwriting.” He complimented.

“Just remember to burn it.” The other said briskly. There was a pause before he added, “Also, just King Technoblade is fine.” 

Despite himself, despite not understanding why, Dream grinned. No longer needing to use that fancy name to address him, though the title king still remained, was a sign of trust. Or perhaps, a test. “Okay. Do you like the rain, king Technoblade?”

“Sure.” Dream was almost expecting that one word to be all the reply he was receiving, for he knew it was unlikely that the king would entrust much more information to him, even if they were trivial opinions. To his pleasant surprise Technoblade went on, “The rain is calming, and it clears the sky when it’s cloudy. I don’t particularly enjoy getting wet, though.” As he said this the king dangled his wet sleeves, looking almost impatient that they have not dried.

Dream chuckled, “Me too, for the part about getting wet. I had a-” He stopped himself, hesitated, before continuing on, “I had a cat, before. She would always make such a big fuss about getting wet.” 

A partnership was a mutual investment; in order to receive he must also give, Dream told himself. There was nothing about his cat Patches that would leak any information private enough to threaten his life. If Technoblade has begun to open up just slightly, he must as well.

Dream shook these thoughts away. His mind must be confused. Their partnership was only business, Dream reminded himself. It was a mutually beneficial temporary teamwork: Dream needed cash and the king needed help. It was a fair exchange for service and only business, of course. Nothing more, nothing less.

As he thought this the storm passed as quickly as it had come, and the sky was tranquill once more. It was time to leave. “Next time, let’s not meet in the forest. Somewhere more sheltered perhaps, so that a storm can’t devastate my guise.” Technoblade said as he took a step out, hand extended to check if there would be more rain. 

Dream nodded. “We can change meeting places every time. How about the blacksmith nearest to the castle?”

It was subtle, almost unnoticeable, but Dream saw that Techno tensed a little, the slight stiffening of his back betraying his thoughts. “You want to meet within the Antarctic Empire?”

It wasn't hard to guess why the king would be uncomfortable with the prospect. Dream was a criminal, a dangerous one at that. Having him within the walls of the empire was risky, but Dream felt like pushing his luck today. “No one would question your presence, and no one will expect mine. Plus, it will only be for one time, if it turns out catastrophic.”

“If it turns out catastrophic there won’t be a next time.” Techno frowned, but he placed a hand on his chin and thought for a moment. “I can spare one meeting. Just because of the rain.”

Dream smiled again. It felt like he had won a thousand battles, and that made something flutter within him. How very odd. “Then it’s decided. With luck, I’ll deliver the information you want by the next meeting.”

“Well I’ll be counting on that.” Technoblade’s face breaks into something akin to a faint smile as well, whether or not that was due to Dream’s reaction or Dream’s promises of reciprocation. “See you then.” And the king left in a flash of red velvet, leaving Dream staring blankly at the place he left.

Into their first meeting, and Dream was already convinced that this was the start of a wonderful partnership as he too headed back to his home with, strangely, slightly flushed cheeks and a quick-paced heartbeat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and feel free to comment!


	4. Technoblade’s P.O.V

Under the cover of the blue evening tinge, he escaped the questioning looks—looks that would have surely been thrown at him had he been spotted with his cloak still dripping, dotting the floor with raindrops—by, with a swirl of his trident, jumping into his bedroom through the window. There he kicked off the pair of muddy boots that was sure to leave more evidence of his little trip than he would rather hide and left the red mantle to dry, his arm sore from carrying the lump of cold and wet all the way back.

A shower was a must as he caught his reflection in the mirror, looking monstrous with his frazzled hair and cloth clinging uncomfortably to his skin. Peeling them off, he let out a sigh as with a flick of his wrist the tab was opened and warm water pooled at his feet. A wave of exhaustion washed over him as grime and sweat trickled down the drain. Closing his eyes, rubbing a hand across his face, he thought of the excuses he would have to make when he is eventually confronted and asked about where he has been. 

His mind circled back to the man he had met. Dream, the hunter’s whose prey never lives to tell the tale, was a lot more… friendly, for better or worse, than what was rumoured. He recalled the teasing air the other had put on when Techno cracked a joke, the glimpse of a very much sincere smile behind that mask when they parted. He wouldn’t be surprised if he was told it was all pretend; a man has to do what he has to do to survive, sometimes, and living in the shoes of a hunted hunter it was hard to believe honesty was a virtue easily kept. But something else told him that it was real; that somehow, Dream was very much his genuine self in that meeting in the cavern.

What slightly concerned him was the lack of demonstration of Dream’s skills and prowess feared by so many. It made him doubt the capacity and talent of the hunter; he was able to easily pin Dream into place, just by attacking him by surprise. He did notice, however, the glint of a blade as thin as a needle twirled between Dream’s fingers, how the hunter had silently glided his foot into a position that would, the instant he free his hands, knock the opponent off balance. These were all proof that he mustn't lower his guard, that Dream could be as unpredictable as he was seemingly harmless, as threatening as he was seemingly charming—Charming? He shook his head in slightest embarrassment, somewhat humoured at the thought.

Perhaps it was a mistake to reach out to such a dangerous man. Perhaps it wouldn’t be worth it. Perhaps he was wasting his time. But… the thought of the guitar music no longer echoing the halls, of immature shouting that were annoying at least and endearing at best. Perhaps it was all hopeless in the first place, but he had to try. 

Out of the shower and into a robe, his hair, a mess as it was already, was tied into a disheveled ponytail. Just as Techno creaked open the door to call for the butler, Ranboo was his name, to pick up the drenched cloth and be rid of all evidence, he was met nose to nose with a concerned father.

Philza. “Hello. What a wonderful evening we’re having, wouldn’t you say?” Techno greeted nonchalantly, sliding the door larger so Phil could enter. Arms crossed, the winged man’s blue eyes were stern as he looked about Techno’s bedroom, as if trying to find something.

“Where have you been?” Philza turned, his voice was akin to the one of a parent prepared to scold his children.

The door clicked close with the flick of his wrist. Techno didn’t want any bits of this confrontation to slip out and drew rumours. He answered simply, holding Philza’s glare steadily, “I needed some fresh air and went for a walk.” It wasn’t completely a lie. The trip had cleared his mind, and the walk was enjoyable, if not for the rain and the fact that he had a destination and a goal in mind.. 

“For two hours? In the storm?” It was akin to an interrogation, the tone unforgiving and doubtful. 

A shrug. Techno’s voice betrayed no emotion. “Phil, what is all these questions about? I got distracted and was then delayed by the storm. You saw how big it was.” It wasn’t that he didn’t believe Phil can’t keep a secret. Quite the contrast; out of anyone, it was Philza that he trusted the most. But what he was doing and has decided to do did not involve Philza, did not involve anyone, anyone else but him. 

Phil had already shared so much of the work and affairs a king should deal with. Alone. He didn’t want to put more weight on the old man’s shoulders, didn’t want those bones to snap from worries that rightfully should be carried by him and him only. Techno’s shoulders were younger, stronger. He was no longer an adolescent, and could bear the load without help now. 

Techno also wasn’t blind. He notices things, subtle things that are well hidden but not quite well enough for him not to glimpse at moments in time. The wet edges of those eyes, the broken glance, the shaking hands, the trembling lower lip whenever his lost brothers were mentioned. All those things he saw but didn’t say, realized but didn’t act because there was nothing he could do. He was utterly helpless to change things, to bring even the slightest solace instead of watching in silence as grief crumbles away all light in Phil’s eyes. 

But more than him, more than anything the status of king can do, Dream could find them, could seek them out, could bring them back.

Wilbur and Tommy didn’t have to return for the one brother they left behind, didn’t have to come back because of duty or moral obligation. Come back for their father, for his orphaned son, for the place they called home and the people they called family. 

Techno blinked back to the present to find Philza breathing out a heavy sigh, “I’m sorry I’m so skeptical mate. It’s just that…” There was pause as Phil rubbed his temple in distress before chuckling ruefully. “I was worried. Very worried. I thought you went missing and I- I expected the worst because- even though I know you’re very much capable of defending yourself but- what if it was just bad luck? What if you… you slipped and- what if it was Dream or some other crazy assassins out there?” Techno winced slightly at the correct guess, but managed to hide it as he listened with knitted eyebrows and guilt sent squirming through him. 

“I just thought you died too, somehow.” Phil broke their glance and looked away.

_ Too _ , Phil had said. I just thought you died  _ too _ . A ripple was sent through Techno’s mask of indifference. 

There was a pause. “I’m glad to see you alive and well mate. Yes indeed, it is a fine evening today, with the storm clearing all the clouds. I’ll go check on dinner. See you there.” A quick smile was flashed as Philza slipped out of the door before Techno could say another word. Techno watched as the door closed, and he was alone again.

“I’m sorry Phil. But I can’t tell anyone. Not even you.” He mumbled to himself as he approached his working desk, where papers to sign and letters to read and affairs to decide were still littered on top. Taking a seat, he nudged a pair of glasses up the bridge of his nose before starting the long hours of work that would consume a majority of his evening. 

* * *

He didn’t sleep that night. With a flick of his wrist he snapped shut another book, and with a sigh he stood up from the dim room to switch off the light. His sight darkened for a moment, his legs giving away and forcing him to sit against the desk, supporting himself with his arm. A glance was thrown at the piles of scrolls he still had and he rubbed his temple, his vision returning. Throwing his glasses to a corner, he lifted himself back up to wobble towards the balcony, leaning onto the railings to take in the scent of light, evening air.

Dawn had blossomed in the horizon though he had hardly noticed. It was only when words and sentences began to blur and scramble, when the rustling of paper became the only sound he could recall hearing the entire day and the aching of his eyes forced him to close them for long moments at a time that he realized he needed a break. “Heh… this really isn’t healthy.” He mumbled to himself, shaking his head and smiling while tugging a strand of pink hair behind his ear.

“What isn’t healthy?” Technoblade jerked his head towards the door, shoulders suddenly tensed and out of habit, a hand reached for a blade usually strapped at his waist. Nobody should be awake at this hour. His senses were usually sharper too, his guard never dropped and very sensitive to the taps of a footstep, yet he hadn’t noticed the person who had just slipped in through the door. He glared at the black and white hair twirled messily on the head of a red and green-eyed butler. Ranboo smiled a little, waving his hand, and Techno relaxed a bit.

The butler was a quiet, friendly gentleman and Techno was quite fond of him, therefore not agitated by the lack of knocking. The butler probably guessed that he was asleep, and came into the room to clean things up for the busy day ahead of them. Techno seldom find time to talk with the man, for each of them have very different duties and work throughout the day and night. It was pleasant when they do chat, though.

“This much reading.” Techno replied, gesturing towards his desk, a mess of opened and still tied scrolls, of highlighted pages scribbled with notes and books half opened. “This empire just never ran out of paperwork for me.” It was all thanks to the meeting he had with Dream that had to catch up on all the hours he missed out. The thought of the masked man sent a strange wave of sensation coursing through him, though he didn’t understand why. He looked away from all the work he still needed to do and instead, directed his glance to the sky.

“This empire is your empire now, isn’t it?” He recalls Wilbur saying the night of Techno’s inauguration as king. Techno flinched at the memory, clutching the railings a little harder.

The sky has been beautiful that morning, just like this time. Sparkled about were winking stars of all sizes, dotting the black canvas with glinting pieces of light as a full moon beamed down at them over the mountain, casting everything in a gentle sheet of ghostly white as it guarded the dreams of those sleeping soundly under its watch. The sun waited patiently for the birds to chirp before rising lazily, letting a few winks of sleep to be had before the break of the day would shed its light. “This is a lovely view.” Techno had said, intentionally not answering him and thankful, when Wilbur didn’t pin him down.

“I apologize for my unannounced entry but you should get some rest before it’s fully morning, King Techno.” Ranboo said, as if sensing Techno’s distress. Blinking back to the present, Techno managed to nod, pushing himself off the railing and stumbling towards his chair. 

Techno gave a tired smile. “Will do. I just need to finish writing one more letter. You can be on your way now.”

That was the last thing Techno remembered saying before with a blink of heavy-lid eyes he found himself jerked awake from a restless sleep. A blanket, left from previously, had dropped to the ground. His boar mask and his crown was left into a corner, revealing a face that was somewhat rarely seen. His face lined with fatigue and lack of proper rest, a peek at the sky told him the sun was already almost over his forehead.

Panic sprang through him as he practically slammed open his bedroom door and found the nearest person in the hallway. Apparently Philza had taken over for the morning to allow him a few more moments of sleep. Running down the corridors he barged into his office to find it empty, Phil nowhere to be seen. He must be adjourning the royal court right now, meaning all Techno needed to do was wait for him to come to his office with a handful of records, documents and more letters.

A more organized but nevertheless towering pile of paper covered his desk as he slumped down into his office chair, which was not so different from the one in his bedroom. His back sore from hunching over and his mind a splitting headache, he sighed as he took a set of pages from the top of the pile and began reading again, eyes darting from line and line absentmindedly.

Sometimes, words seemed like nothing but meaningless symbols inked onto paper that become mounds on his desk; Time nothing but more hours spent writing and signing and discussing problems that don't cease to flood into his office, duty nothing but burdens anchoring and chaining him to his office. 

He wasn’t told this when he first became king, wasn’t warned of how hard it would be. He was only told of the honour and glory and power, though none of that appealed to him either. The truth was that the empire had needed a new ruler, and had been weakened by previous tyranny and improper guidance. The people, the citizens, had selected him; he had no choice in the matter. As the oldest son in his family and the only one of eligible age, he was compelled to become king by a sense of responsibility and obligation. 

And it wasn’t that hard at first, either. Wilbur was more than willing to help, and he was an admirably good leader. It was simple to just sit and watch the works of his brother produce fruits of success and give rise to the golden era of the Antarctic Empire. Techno too, of course, contributed to the achievement, but he enjoyed giving most credit to a much more proud Wilbur. With his brothers by his side Techno had been laid-back as a ruler, and found it almost… entertaining. It was certainly not dull, and he’s always been fond of reading and writing.

But it had all changed in one day. He was mortified to hear the same brother accused of such treacherous actions, and even more appalled by their supposed death. The sun still rose each day afterwards, and the empire continued as it did. But it has never been the same since; Techno had never been the same since. It was really the few weeks after the incident that the King of the Antarctic Empire, more than his conquest and his battles, earned himself a reputation as feared as it was now. It was as if summer and its golden afternoons had slipped away and that winter with its ghastly chills had come early.

From as long as Techno could remember, summer had always been his paradise. He had adored it as a child, reading underneath the shade of leaves with the laughter of his siblings goofing around him. Now, as king, escaping the sweltering heat of the indoors he would pour his heart into the beaming sunshine as he rode his horse far, far away from the chatter of people, the worries and governmental matters, of papers and pages and letters and trivial affairs. His smile would soar like a bird free from a cage as he rode into a bright afternoon sky, down the country roads until structures disappear into nothing but small dots in the horizon and he could only see boundless fields of farmland or just wild prairies and waves of long grass everywhere he turns. His hair would dance in the breeze as the coolness of the air made him ignore the sultry air and the sweat coating his body. For fleeting moments he would forget the past that haunted his nights and the future that frightened his days. For fleeting moments he would breath in only the scents of blossoming fields, flood her ears with only the cheerful singing of birds and clear her mind with the sound of wind shrilling against the shells of his ears. For fleeting moments he would only hear the drumming of his heart drum as his hungry eyes took in one indescribable scene after another, trying so hard to carve them into his memories.

But summer was always so short and always passed by so quickly. Too short for him to grasp, to plea for it to stay only to let it slip through his finger like specks of dust, like grains of sand in a wild gust. Too quickly for him to take a breath, for him to smile, for him to blink, for him to imagine that everything was okay. For his breathing to calm, for his chest to rise and fall without the feeling of the unbearable weight of obligations suffocating her, without the constant worry for the future and the echoes of his thoughts drowning him, blurring his eyes of all the merry things in the world and showing him only the ugliest, the cruelest, the worst.

It was often that Techno would slip back in the past only to force himself back to the present like he did now. Casting a long glance at the window and the beautiful afternoon outside before looking back at his work and the long week ahead of him, he found himself almost, just almost—he allowed himself to entertain the thought—looking forward to his meeting with Dream again. It would be a temporary escape; a brief moment of sunshine, of peace and freedom from his duties. It would be like summer again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More interactions with Dream next chapter! Thank you for all the support recently and feel free to comment!


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